


and the sound of your howl will carry me home

by imitation_red



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alpha Scott, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, submissive derek, wolf pack au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:24:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imitation_red/pseuds/imitation_red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is bleeding from a six different places and carrying his dying sister in his arms when he enters the territory of the McCall pack, one of the strongest packs on this side of the continent. He’s risking his life by trespassing, but considering he’s got his murdering uncle hot on his trail, claws still wet with Laura’s blood, he’s willing to take his chances. Scerek AU for Scerek week!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

Cora stopped whimpering every time he jolted her by landing too hard twenty minutes ago, and the sound of her fading heartbeat pushes Derek harder, faster. If he focuses past the harsh wheeze of his own breathing he can hear Peter behind them about a mile and a half away and gaining with every step. The only reason he’s evaded him for so long was because Derek managed to stab him with the branch of a mountain ash tree, something that would kill a normal wolf.

But Peter is an alpha now, claws still wet with Laura’s blood, driven completely feral by bloodlust and the rush of power. And he’s not carrying a teenage girl in his arms or slowly bleeding out from a half-dozen wounds that won’t heal because they are alpha-inflicted.

He’s catching up and Derek is terrified he’ll finish the job he started when he smashed Cora’s head against the ground and beat the crap out of Derek for trying to protect her. There’s no use in running, and if he tries to stand and fight he’ll die.

It’s time to try something new.

He’s been sticking close to the neutral areas, buffer zones between territories that exist to maintain peace between packs. No wolf would ever enter the territory of a foreign pack unless they had a death wish. The only wolves who do so are lone wolves, not because they stand a chance of being integrated into the pack, but because many would prefer the swift execution over a lifetime of loneliness and near-constant starvation.

But he’s desperate. Hopefully Peter won’t be willing to breach foreign territory. Hopefully, he’ll count Derek and Cora as dead just by trespassing. Hopefully, Derek will go undetected long enough to get into a neutral zone again.

Hopefully.

He veers sharp left and heads straight towards the pungent smell that marks a claimed territory. The back of his neck prickles uncomfortably, every instinct he possesses screaming danger at trespassing into unfamiliar land. He presses forward regardless, grimly determined to see it through.

He keeps an ear cocked for the sound of Peter following. After about a mile of tearing through the thick underbrush (instincts still clamoring for him to turn back) he hears Peter stop. His heart leaps and he freezes, holding his breath, praying he won’t have to go any further.

He almost howls with frustration when Peter’s footsteps start up again.

In his arms, Cora whimpers weakly. He clutches her closer to his chest, mind racing. Is there any point in going deeper into claimed land if Peter still follows? Is Peter so intent on killing them himself that he’s willing to risk his own hide?

Peter howls. The sound makes goosebumps sweep up Derek’s arms and sends a tremor through his bones. It’s not the sound of a wolf calling to his pack, calling them home. It’s a warning and a threat and a promise all rolled in one chilling cry.

It propels Derek forward, terror overcoming his discomfort of crashing through strange territory. Through the haze of fear he realizes that the wolves in this territory will have heard Peter’s howl, and hope suddenly seizes him. If they find Peter first – if they kill him – if Derek manages to evade the pack – he has a chance. The tiniest sliver of a chance.

If.

“Please, Cora, hang on,” he whispers, making the effort to run quietly, sacrificing speed for silence. Peter howls again and instead of shaking with fear he grins, feral, praying that the wolves are on their way.

He doesn’t hear or smell a thing. There is no warning when three wolves melt out from the shadows of the forest, surrounding him. The eyes of the wolf directly in front of him flare red. Derek comes to a dead halt, heart stopping.

Out of the claws of one alpha straight into those of another.

For a moment time seems to stand still. Derek briefly considers dropping Cora and trying to fight, but his entire being rebels against letting go of his younger sister for a futile fight. He’d rather die with her in his arms. Decided, he braces himself for a slash to the throat, waits for the final blow to come.

It doesn’t. The alpha continues to regard him with a steady stare, unmoving, the two wolves still as if waiting for their alpha to signal them.

Derek swallows thickly. He doesn’t know what they want, but if they’re not going to kill him immediately maybe he can plead his case.

So he kneels, slowly, eyes cast downward submissively. With the utmost gentleness he lays Cora on the ground. Keeping his claws sheathed, he spreads his hands on his thighs, head tilting to the side and back to bare his throat.

In the distance Peter howls, the sound cut off by the snarling of several wolves. Derek shudders as the sounds of ripping flesh and breaking bones tear through the air. He doesn’t feel anything except relief to hear the growls and then yelps of his uncle suddenly silenced. Numbly, he wonders if this makes him as bad as Peter, to be indifferent to the death of a packmate.

“Was he your alpha?” The alpha speaks suddenly, surprising Derek enough that his eyes flicker up and then quickly avert downward once more. The alpha’s eyes are brown, now, and he dares to hope it’s a good sign.

Derek wets his lips and tries to find his voice. “He’s related by blood, but I don’t take him as pack. Not anymore. He – he killed my sister. Alpha.” He tacks on the honorific quickly, wishing that he knew the packname so he could address the person who holds Derek’s life in his hands properly.

“Why was he trying to kill you?”

“I don’t know. He was comatose for years. He woke up and -” Derek stops, throat tight. It’s ridiculous that minutes to death and his mind shies away from thinking about how it happened. How Peter suddenly awoke after they’d lost hope he’d ever come back to them, how overjoyed all three of them had been. Until he tore Laura’s throat out.

He takes a deep breath and shoves it from his mind. “I didn’t mean to trespass into your territory. I was hoping to shake him off and return to the neutral zone. Please, I’m no threat to your pack.”

One of the other wolves, a young woman with brown hair and sharp eyes, speaks up for the first time. “You brought a feral alpha into our territory. I’d say that constitutes a threat to our pack.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s not an excuse, but I didn’t think he would follow me,” Derek says honestly. It doesn’t feel like enough, the words sit like ashes on his tongue, so he gambles and prays that none of their wolves were killed. “If you want, I’ll take the retribution for any injuries he may have caused. But please let me leave with my sister.”

The alpha says, almost gently, “She’s not going to survive long without a healer.”

Derek fights back the urge to snarl at him. Does he think Derek doesn’t know that? That Derek can’t feel her dying through the bond they have as packmates and siblings? That the life leaking out of her isn’t also pulling a part of his soul along with it, tearing another piece away just like when half his pack burned to death, just like when Laura died? Does he think Derek doesn’t feel the immense terror at the realization that soon he will be _totally and completely_ alone in this world, without his family or his pack or his _soul?_

His eyes burn and he abandons any pride he had left. “If you’re offering to save her – please. I’ll do anything.”

He thinks there’s no way. There’s no chance that a strange pack would not just refrain from killing him, but offer aid, after he violated their borders and brought a feral alpha in their territory to boot.

But the alpha steps forward and rests his thumb on the hollow of Derek’s throat, feeling his pulse, testing his submission. “You promise you mean no harm to the McCall pack? That you will, as a guest in our pack, obey our customs and my word, which is law?”

“I promise, Alpha,” Derek says, hardly daring to believe, pulse steady just the same.

The alpha gives a short nod. “Good.” He turns toward his packmates, hand still resting on Derek’s neck. “Isaac, take his sister to Deaton, quickly. Allison, check up on Lydia and Boyd, please.”  
The wolf Isaac stoops down to scoop up Cora. A quiet whine escapes Derek’s throat involuntarily at the sight of his unconscious, helpless sister in a stranger’s arms, but he remains still and obedient under Alpha McCall’s hand.

“She’ll be fine.” McCall’s tone is kind but his hand remains resting at Derek’s throat. “I promise. Isaac is the fastest wolf in our pack.”

He watches his sister get carried away until can no longer see her or hear her shallow breathing. Then, he looks up at his temporary alpha.

McCall is studying him. “I need to scent-mark you before I take you to our den,” he says. “I don’t want to risk anyone attacking you for being completely foreign.”

A lump rises in Derek’s throat, because even under the sweat and blood and sour tang of fear, he can still smell Laura on himself. Can still detect the softer smells of love and affection imprinted on his skin, from every time she pulled him into a hug or ruffled his hair or playfully wrestled him to the ground. The thought of covering her scent with that of another alpha is unbearable.

It’s a necessity, though, because bringing a strange wolf (however injured) into a place where pups or elders or other vulnerable packmates reside would agitate and incense any wolf. Bearing the scent of the pack’s alpha will help keep anyone from succumbing to instinct and attacking him.

So Derek nods in acceptance. McCall swipes a hand down the back of his neck, across his chest, and through his hair. Incredibly, something in Derek settles at the familiar motions of being scent-marked, even this perfunctorily and by an unknown alpha. It feels like safety, like protection, and Derek bites his lip sharply to remind himself that he is not safe, and he doesn’t have an alpha to protect him anymore. That this is temporary, because for all that McCall might be generous enough to give aid to two wolves, the idea that he would take two people not of his own blood as pack is laughable.

McCall steps back, finished, and gestures for Derek to stand. “That should do it. Stick close and you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you,” Derek says. “For doing this. For helping my sister.”

McCall’s mouth tilts in a small smile. “You know, I don’t think I ever asked your name.”

“It’s Derek.” He doesn’t give his packname.

There isn’t a Hale pack, anymore.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who left comments or kudos! makes me really happy to be writing again (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Entering the den of the McCall pack is – nerve-wracking, to say the least.

Derek bites the inside of his cheek to ward off the constant, low-grade whine that claws at the back of his throat. Surrounded by unfamiliar scents and wary, hostile wolves, he longs to partially shift, at least to hear and see with the eyes of the wolf, but holds back, knowing it might be seen as threatening. Instead he keeps his head down and hands lose, claws sheathed. Night is falling and uncontrollable shivers wrack his frame, both from the cold and from the fading adrenaline. He’s exhausted and his body simply doesn’t have the energy to ward away the pain from his sluggishly bleeding injuries or keep him warm in the thin skin of human form.

A nearby wolf snarls at him and he flinches. McCall places a hand on the back of his neck and flashes red eyes at the other wolf warningly. Unable to help himself, Derek leans into the touch, closing his eyes in embarrassment at his own behavior. After a brief pause, McCall leaves his hand in place, thumb stroking the nape of his neck reassuringly as he leads Derek forward.

They come to a stop outside a circular cabin, and Derek immediately straightens at the sound of Cora’s breathing, still raspy and weak but stronger than it was when Isaac took her away. McCall opens the door and they’re greeted by a blast of warm air that chases away the chill clinging to his bones.

“Come in and shut the door, please,” a voice calls from inside. “The temperature needs to be maintained and I don’t want the cold getting in.”

Derek steps inside first at McCall’s nod and goes straight to Cora’s side. He touches her cheek and strokes her hair and almost shouts for joy when she turns her face into his palm. She’s not conscious, but the fact that she’s responsive fills his heart with wild hope.

“She should pull through.” Derek looks up at the man who spoke before, who he guesses is Deaton. “She suffered a minor concussion and lost quite a lot of blood, but I’ve given her a transfusion and treated the wounds. With a week or so of rest she should be up and about again.”  

Derek finds Cora’s hand and squeezes it tightly. “Thank you,” he says hoarsely. The words hardly seem adequate.

Deaton gives Derek a measured glance. “It looks like you have a few injuries yourself.”

“I’m fine, they’ll heal,” Derek says, not keen on the idea of letting an unfamiliar wolf near his wounds. His nerves are strained to the breaking point as it is.

Deaton and McCall exchange looks. “Derek, I can smell the fresh blood. You’re still bleeding. Those are alpha-inflicted wounds and they can get infected,” McCall says. “I promise you’re safe here. Deaton just needs to disinfect and bandage the wounds.”

Derek feels his hackles start to rise and forces himself to relax. Reminds himself that he gave his word to obey McCall. “Yes, Alpha.”

Deaton gestures him over to a long wooden table. Derek reluctantly removes his shirt and lies down gingerly, body taut with tension at exposing his belly. Deaton starts to apply a paste that smells of eucalyptus and lemon to the largest gash across his chest. Swallowing, Derek realizes his breathing is getting harsh and labored, and tries to control it.

A hand rests lightly on his head and Derek looks up at McCall. “You know, my name’s actually Scott, not ‘alpha,’” he says lightly.

Derek blinks up at him, momentarily distracted. “You want me to call you Alpha Scott?”

“What, don’t you think that has a nice ring to it?” McCall says, half-smiling. “No, you can just call me Scott. Nobody addresses me by my title.”

That’s not unusual, especially in packs that mostly consist of a nuclear or extended family. Derek thinks with a pang of longing of his mother, who everyone simply called “mom” or “ma’am” if they’d done something bad and wanted to suck up to avoid getting into trouble.

 Deaton starts to apply the healing solution to a wound near his neck and Derek’s upper lip curls, body tensing in a silent snarl.

“Easy, easy,” Scott murmurs, fingers sinking into Derek’s hair. He breathes out slowly as Scott starts to card through his hair. The feeling sends pleasant tingles down his spine, a sharp contrast and welcome distraction from the pain, and he starts to arch into the touch before he realizes what he’s doing.

A flush of embarrassment spreads across his face and upper chest. Derek hates that he’s acting like a needy pup, begging for scraps of affection and attention from an indulgent adult. He’s completely at the mercy of this strange alpha and his instincts are reacting in a way that doesn’t make sense at all. He should barely be able to stand his touch, not crave it and seek it out.

“Sorry,” he mutters, avoiding both Deaton’s and Scott’s eyes. Let them take the apology how they will.

“It’s fine,” Scott says. “I think it’s normal, you know. To want to be touched.”

There’s a beat of silence before Derek’s confusion wins over his fear of offending his hosts. “Why are you doing this?” he says in a rush. “Why help me? What could you possibly get out of it?”

“Well, we are in need of a new omega,” McCall says.

Derek goes completely still. Of course. How could he be so naïve. How could he even dare hope that someone would help them without wanting something in return. His luck has never been that good; why would that change now?

“ _Scott_.” Deaton sounds long-suffering.

“That was a joke,” Scott says hastily. “A terrible joke. I’m sorry. My pack-brother Stiles keeps telling me I need to leave the jokes to him.”

Derek swallows. Breathes. And says, quietly, “If you’d keep us in the pack – me and Cora – I’d – I’d fill that role.” He’s trembling, but it doesn’t matter, because anything – _anything,_ even the lowliest position, the scapegoat and doormat and bitch of the pack, is better than being a lone wolf. Is better than losing Cora.

Because two betas don’t make a pack, and if he and Cora try and make it alone, without the power of an alpha to shield them – they will be dead in a few years, if not less. He can bear role of omega for Cora. If it keeps her safe, he’ll do anything.

“Shit,” he hears Scott mutter. He and Deaton glance at each other, the other wolf with one eyebrow raised, a look that clearly connotates _your mess, you deal with it._

The alpha removes his hand from Derek’s hair and tilts his chin so that he meets his gaze. “Derek, listen to me. I was joking. We don’t have omegas in this pack and we never will, because that’s a horrible, brutal, archaic practice that _nobody here_ would tolerate. Ever. Listen to my heartbeat. I promise, I did not help you to make you an omega.”

 His pulse is steady. Derek makes a soft noise of assent, more confused than ever. “Then why?”

For a moment, Scott’s eyes unfocus, like he is somewhere else in his head. “Because I know what it’s like to be in a bad place with nowhere to go and nowhere to run.”

He looks – sad. Trapped in old memories that still cut, even though they are faded at the edges. Derek’s not good with talking, doesn’t know enough about Scott to say something comforting anyway, so he takes Scott’s hand and puts it back in his hair.

If he’s going to play the needy pup, might as well be a demanding one instead of a pathetic one.

Scott looks surprised but a slow smile unfurls, and something about the way his eyes light up and the corners crinkle makes Derek’s heart trip over itself like a pup trying to carry a stick twice its size.

“Getting a little bossy, are we,” Scott teases, and Derek recognizes it as teasing now, even though he’s a little too leery of being seen as disrespectful yet to tease back.

He huffs, the furthest he’s willing to go, and presses his head back into Scott’s hand. If the motion bares the long column of his throat, well, it doesn’t hurt to be overcautious.

\----

By the time Alan has finished treating Derek’s wounds, the beta is mostly-asleep and utterly boneless. Scott has to hold back a smile at the way Derek goes pliant and relaxed under his hand. He’s never had someone be this responsive to his touch, barring perhaps Isaac. But it’s unusual because even Isaac took a while before he stopped flinching away in fear and began seeking out physical affection.

“I’m just about finished.” Alan speaks quietly. “Do you mind carrying him to his sister’s bed? It’s large enough for both of them and the proximity will help them both heal faster.”

Scott nods and scoops up Derek. The beta’ eyes slit open but otherwise he doesn’t react to being carried to the bed. Once deposited he immediately curls up protectively around his sister.

The sight makes Scott bite his lip and clear his throat, embarrassed by how fast his heart melts. Judging by Alan’s fond half-smile, he sees right through him. “You did well to save them,” Alan murmurs, moving to the far side of the den to stoke the fire.

“Do you know what pack they came from?” Scott asks, voice pitched low.  

Alan nods at the tattoo on Derek’s back. “The Hale pack. They were nearly all killed during a territorial war with the Argents and lost most of their land some years ago. I’m surprised they lasted this long, to be honest.”

Scott’s jaw tightens and he breathes out slowly. “The alpha chasing them – Derek said he was his uncle.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Alan pushes another log into the fireplace. “Oftentimes, when a wolf loses too many packmates, the grief drives them to bury their human awareness under the wolf. But the emotions remain, too strong for the wolf’s instincts to handle without being driven feral.”

Scott watches the rise and fall of Derek’s back sadly. “They won’t – they won’t follow the same fate, though, will they?”

Alan hesitates. “If it hasn’t happened now, after the loss of their alpha, then most likely no. But. It’s always a possibility. Something like that can be triggered by another traumatic event. Some things are too much to bear, even for the strongest individuals.”

“Is there any way to make sure that doesn’t happen? Anything that would stabilize them?” Scott asks.

Alan gives him a knowing look. “You’ve already decided to keep them, haven’t you?”

Scott smiles ruefully. “Well, if the pack agrees. And if they want to stay,” he amends. He casts a glance at the bed again; Cora has turned into Derek’s chest, instinctively seeking the warmth and comfort of a packmate, even in slumber. “I don’t think it will be a problem.”

\---

“You brought in _two_ strange wolves? Not one, but _two_?”

Scott is barely a few feet out of Deaton’s den when Stiles appears, all flailing limbs and frenetic energy. He hushes Stiles, giving him a look and tilting his head towards the den to indicate that they are not out of earshot.

Stiles gives an aggrieved huff, but follows him away from the den anyway. “ _Two_ wolves? Being chased by a rabid alpha?? The hell, Scott!”

 “You didn’t complain when I brought Danny into the pack,” Scott points out, heading to the communal den, where he can sense Boyd and Lydia have returned. “And he was being hunted by twoalphas.”

Stiles makes a noise of outrage. “That’s because Danny is a _sunshine prince_ of immeasurable value, and we _already knew him_ , and the alpha twins where creepy creepsters who wanted to do nefarious things to his person.”

Scott snorts at the lurid but accurate description. “We didn’t know Boyd or Erica,” he counters.

“Yeah and they weren’t be chased by rough alphas! So we had nothing to lose by bringing them in anyway!”

Scott stops just outside the door and faces Stiles. “The alpha that tried to kill them isn’t dead, is he.”

“No! He’s not! What do you think I’ve been trying to tell you?” Stiles says. “Lydia and Boyd chased him to the edge of the Argent’s territory.”

“I almost had him, too.” Lydia calls out from inside the den. “Missed his jugular by a fraction.”

Scott ducks inside. Lydia and Boyd sit at the table nearest to the entrance, each nursing a plate of (mostly devoured) food.

“Neither of you are injured?” Scott asks as he takes a seat by Lydia. He can see a few scratches which already seem to be healing.

“Not seriously,” Boyd says. “The alpha was completely feral. Not difficult to outsmart in a fight.” 

“Get checked up by Deaton anyway. So he went into Argent territory?”

“Yes. We stayed near their boarders until he was out of earshot,” Lydia says.

“So he’s dead then,” Scott says decisively. “The Argents don’t tolerate trespassers.”

Boyd makes a noncommittal noise, smacking Stiles’ hand away as he tries to take a piece of meat off Boyd’s plate. “Probably. There was something about the way he headed straight for their territory, though. It was strange, even for a rabid wolf.”

“You think he willingly went into Argent land?” Stiles says, distracted from massaging his slapped hand. “The Argents haven’t taken in a lone wolf in generations. They don’t even marry into other packs. They cut trespassers in half and hang the bodies along their boarders, for cryin’ out loud.”

Scott grimaces. He’d once seen an omega run into Argent land. They’d descended on him like vultures without a shred of mercy.

“Allison caught his scent. She said he didn’t smell familiar,” Lydia remarks. “So he’s probably not affiliated with their pack.”

 “Then he’s _definitely_ dead,” Stiles snorts, attempting again to take from Boyd’s plate, again having his hand swatted away effortlessly.

Scott inhales deeply, taking in the scents of his pack. “Let’s hope so.”


	3. Part 3

Derek wakes up to sun-warmed fur and wrapped in the familiar scents of Cora and clean blankets and still-smoldering firewood. He took wolf form last night, needing the comfort of it after waking up in a cold sweat, ensnared in nightmares that clung to his mind like cobwebs. He can still have nightmares as a wolf, but they’re muted this way.

He checks Cora’s heartbeat, steady and strong, and licks the side of her face. Her nose wrinkles and he does it again. 

One eye cracks open. “Derek?” 

In his elation he barks, half-forgetting he’s in wolf form and can’t speak. Wriggling with joy he licks her again, sticking his cold nose against her temple and by her ear, taking deep breathes of her healthy, living scent. 

“Ugh, Derek, gross,” she grumbles, wiping at her face. “Where are we? What happened?”

Derek pauses, snout still buried in her hair. For a wild moment he considers staying in wolf form, forever, just so he won’t have to talk. So he’ll never have to talk. But Cora pushes at him insistently, repeating her question. 

Reluctantly, he shifts out of wolf form, pulling a blanket around him to cover himself. “We’re in the territory of another pack,” he starts. “The McCall pack. The alpha gave us sanctuary and let their healer take care of us. We’re in the healing den now.”

Cora glances around, looking disoriented. “What happened to Peter?”

Derek hesitates. “I – I stabbed him with a mountain ash branch. I grabbed you and ran. He tried to chase after us, so I ran into the McCall territory hoping he wouldn’t follow. He did and they killed him.”

“Are you sure he’s dead?” Cora asks, eyes intent. 

“Yes,” Derek says with certainty. “I heard them kill him.”

“Good,” Cora snarls, but her eyes are shining with tears. “I’m glad. He killed – he killed her. I’m glad he’s dead. I am.” Her heartbeat is speeding up and Derek feels tears sting at his own eyes. He pulls her into his arms and rocks back and forth as she begins to sob. 

“Why did he kill her?” Cora’s nails dig into his arms as she repeats the question, like if she asks enough times some kind of answer will come. “Why did he kill her?”

“I don’t know,” Derek whispers, chest hitching as he struggles to hold back his own grief. “I don’t know. He was gone for so long. Maybe his instincts pushed him to it.”

“Would your instincts tell you to kill Laura?” Cora shouts. “Would your instincts tell you to kill your alpha and one of your own blood?!”

“No, no, they wouldn’t, shh, they wouldn’t.” Derek presses her face into his chest, and her mouth moves against his skin, words muffled by his body. It takes a moment before he can work out what she’s saying. 

“She’sgoneshe’sgoneshe’sgone. We thought he was back and now they’re both gone. We lost everyone else why did we have to lose them too? Wasn’t it enough? Didn’t we lose enough?”

A long whine drags from Derek’s throat and he buries his face in Cora’s hair, trying to suppress it. He wants to be strong for her but he’s not, he can’t be when he feels like an empty and hollowed-out husk of the person he used to be. Laura made them strong. Laura gave them both a reason to be strong. 

Laura is gone. 

They haven’t been quiet so he’s not surprised when the door of the den opens. It’s Deaton, who takes one look at them and backs out. Derek barely registers it; skin-to-skin with Cora, he can feel all her anguish and rage through their bond as packmates, and it’s feeding into his own muted desolation. He tries to fight the tide and focus on positive emotions but it’s a losing battle. 

This is bad. Usually the sharing of emotions between packmates stabilizes the wolf and strengthens the pack. But it’s not meant to be used like this, between two people both mired in despair, reflecting the same negative emotions and amplifying them, dragging them down like a riptide. 

There are hands on his shoulders pulling him away from Cora and spinning him around, and he doesn’t fight, can’t fight because he’s breathing too fast and his vision is swimming and he’s drowning – 

“Derek. Derek. C’mon, look at me. Derek.” The voice is saturated with the command of an alpha, and Derek focuses on Scott’s red eyes with dazed hazel ones. 

“Good, that’s good, focus on me,” Scott says in measured tones, gripping him firmly by the shoulders. “Just breathe for me, okay?” 

Derek nods, acutely aware of the warmth and strength of Scott’s grip. He’s being fed positive emotions, and he seizes the foreign-feeling wisps of contentment like a starving man. Scott shifts one hand up to the back of his neck, kneading gently, and the last bit of panic washes away. Derek lets out a slow, shuddering exhale.

Scott looks over Derek’s shoulder. “Lydia? How’s she doing?”

Derek whips around, about to lurch back toward his sister, but Scott holds him firm. “No, Derek. Not yet, okay?” 

A woman with piercing green eyes has Cora cradled in her arms, and Derek relaxes when he sees her hold is gentle, not constraining. “She’s not panicking anymore,” the girl says, “but I’m not really cut out for this comfort thing.”

“You’re doing fine, Lydia.” The healer of the pack – Deaton – appears holding two mugs of steaming liquid. “Have them drink this. They’re calming brews.”

Scott takes one of the mugs and hands it to Derek. He swallows down the bittersweet liquid quickly, one eye on Cora, who looks shell-shocked. 

“Okay?” Scott asks, still supporting the back of Derek’s head. 

“Yes. Thanks,” Derek says gruffly, mortification beginning to bleed through now that he’s calmed down. Scott doesn’t remove his hands, and Derek finds that he can’t bring himself to pull away, even under the burn of embarrassment. 

“Good.” Scott turns to Cora. “Are you alright?”

She nods. “Yes, ah – alpha.” She hasn’t tried to pull away from Lydia, who is rubbing circles into her back, and that makes Derek feel a little better about the way he’s pressing into Scott’s hands. 

“I think, given the circumstances, it might be best if you spent some time apart,” Deaton suggests calmly, and any composure that Derek might have regained in the past few moments vanishes abruptly.

He bristles, baring his teeth as a snarl builds in his throat. “No,” he grits out harshly, eyes flickering blue as he glares at Deaton. 

“Woah, easy,” Scott says, gripping the back of Derek’s neck firmly. Derek almost gives into the urge to sink his fangs into the alpha’s hand, but his senses kick in at the last second and he forces himself calm down. 

“I realize you have no real reason to trust us,” Deaton says. “But right now neither of you are in a place that is emotionally stable, and being together may make it worse. Spending an hour or so with others will help. Derek has already shown an affinity to Scott, and if I’m not mistaken, Cora might benefit from Lydia’s influence.”

Derek looks at Cora, waiting for her to vehemently disagree, but to his surprise she looks torn. “Maybe he’s right. Derek, I – maybe you should stay away. Just for a little while.” She looks at him pleadingly, willing him to understand.

Derek’s stomach drops because he knows what she’s afraid to tell him in front of their hosts. Had felt what was happening when he’d been skin-to-skin with her. 

“Alright,” he says quietly, reassuringly. “I’ll go for a little while. But I won’t be far, okay?”

“Yeah,” Cora whispers, and Derek quickly reaches forward to press a kiss to her forehead. He doesn’t linger, despite how he longs to gather her in his arms and shield her from any and all harm. He knows there’s no point, not when the demons she fights aren’t physical, and he is no better equipped to battle them than she. 

\---- 

“Poisonous or medicinal? I can never tell with the mushrooms.”

Derek scrutinizes the mushroom ring that Scott’s pointing at and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“Pretty sure it’s poisonous,” Boyd calls without looking over. 

“You didn’t even look!” Scott says, feigning righteous outrage, the uptick at the corner of his mouth giving him away. 

“No, but I can smell it, and I’d rather not go to Deaton to get treated for a minor stomachache and spend the next three days in bed because someone gave him something poisonous.”

“Okay, for the record, that’s never happened. Deaton would never mistake something harmful as medicinal,” Scott says. 

“But then you’ve tried to give him poisonous mushrooms,” Derek points out, one eyebrow raised.

“One time,” Scott protests, as Boyd shouts “Twice!”

“So it might have been twice,” Scott concedes, smiling ruefully at Derek. “I don’t know why Deaton still lets me forge for him.”

“He doesn’t want to hurt your feelings so he acts like you’re a huge help, but he’s been tossing out everything you give him for years,” Boyd deadpans. 

Scott grabs his heart and staggers as if wounded, and Derek laughs without meaning to. He’s not entirely sure he’s allowed to do this – to play around and gently tease as if he’s pack. It’s   
startlingly easy to forget, when he stands barefoot in soft grasses with the forest humming in activity around him, in the presence of two who should be strangers but already feel familiar. 

In the last hour or so he’s found himself grounded by the solid presence of Boyd, who gives off a powerful sense of calm that comes only from those with unshakable self-confidence. He clearly doesn’t feel threatened by Derek, something that Derek is grateful for – because it means he doesn’t have to worry about appeasing him with overt displays of submission to keep from being attacked. 

It’s not the same with Scott. Derek isn’t apprehensive around Scott, but not because Scott isn’t threatened by him. Because he feels safe around Scott, as if Scott’s strength is a comfort instead of something to be feared. 

It’s jolting. And a part of Derek remains deeply paranoid. Because eventually Scott will decide Derek is not his problem anymore, and when that happens, the last thing Derek needs is to feel like he lost two alphas instead of one. 

“Hey.” Scott’s soft voice pulls Derek from his thoughts. “You okay? You looked lost in your head for a bit.” 

“No, I’m fine. Just – blanking out,” Derek says, ruffling through a patch of dandelions. 

“Sure. Just say something if you get caught in a bad thought, okay?” He grips Derek’s forearm briefly and the warmth of his hand lingers on Derek’s skin long after he lets go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi Derek is 100% naked while Scott is stroking his neck in the first scene and Derek is okay with that (◡‿◡✿)
> 
> Also wow this chapter was like trying to draw blood from a stone. Not totally happy with it buuuut I’m tired of staring at it so TAKE IT HERE IT’S YOURS.


	4. Chapter 4

Days pass and Derek waits for the other shoe to drop.

At night he and Cora sleep curled together in wolf form, limbs overlapping so that he can’t tell where he ends and she begins. They eat meals together, separated from the McCall pack. During the rest of the day he stays with Scott or Boyd, and she with Deaton or Lydia.  

It’s like being a pup again, he thinks with more than a little self-deprecation. Maybe he shouldn’t feel ashamed of how easily he slips into depression, or how often he longs to shift to wolf form and forget his human concerns, or how he relies on Scott and Boyd to keep him anchored in the present.

The paralyzing weight of grief lingers despite all his best efforts to shake it, to be the kind of rock Cora needs to heal fully. Every waking moment is overshadowed by the knowledge that this won’t last, that eventually he and Cora will return to their own territory. And when that day comes he will not just need to be able to stand on his own two feet, but catch Cora when she falters.   

He still doesn’t know why Scott is being so generous, but at this point he’s decided not to question it. He soaks up the gentle touches and physical affection like moss after a drought, trying not to count down in his head to the inevitable moment they will have to leave.  

On their fifth day in the McCall pack, Scott pulls him aside and starts, “So Deaton says you’re pretty much healed up.”

Derek’s stomach drops and for a moment he fights the rush of vertigo. You _knew_ this was coming, he viciously berates himself, keeping his face blank.

“So I was wondering if you’d like to help with the hunt tomorrow? We could always use an extra set of paws.” He pauses and takes in Derek’s stunned face with a look of concern. “Or maybe not. Are you alright? You look pale.”

Derek pushes aside his astonishment. “No, I’m fine. I would be – I would be honored to join your pack on the hunt.”

Scott smiles brightly. “Great. We leave an hour before dawn.” He claps Derek on the shoulder. “I have to go patrol right now, but I’m going to leave you with Erica – she’s Boyd’s mate. She, ah, likes to tease a bit, but don’t take it seriously.”

“Okay,” Derek says, still feeling more than a little blind-sided. But then, maybe Scott is just giving him a way to repay his pack’s hospitality.

A woman with blonde curls saunters over at Scott’s beckon. She smirks at Derek, and he eyes her warily, wondering if it’s necessary for her to smile with quite so many teeth.

“Erica, this is Derek,” Scott nods towards Derek, who dips his head just enough that his eyes flick to the ground briefly. “Derek, Erica.”

“Pleasure,” Erica purrs, and Derek doesn’t miss the exasperated but fond look that crosses Scott’s face.

“Great. I’ll be back just before we leave for the hunt, alright?” Scott tells Derek. He turns to Erica and mouths something that looks an awful like “ _be nice.”_ Erica cocks her head and gives Scott a wide-eyed look of innocence.

Scott doesn’t look reassured. He gives her one last pointed glance before smiling at Derek and leaving.

Erica turns towards him. “So, how do you feel about heights?”

“I don’t mind them,” Derek says cautiously.

She grins at him, razor sharp. “Excellent.”

\---

Two hours later and hanging upside-down fifty or so feet from the ground, Derek is beginning to reassess his initial opinion.

“Have you secured that rope yet?” Erica calls, from where she swings easily from tree branches some twenty feet above him.

Derek grits his teeth and tries to keep the growl out of his voice when he responds. “Working on it.”

Erica executes a casual backflip that makes Derek feel queasy just watching. “Do you need me to come over and help? Or maybe I could give you one of the safety ropes we use for the pups when they want to climb?”

This time Derek can’t contain his growl, but Erica just laughs, the bright sound ringing clearly through the trees. “Calm down, sugartits, I’m kidding.”

 _Sugartits_? Derek mouths the word in disbelief, caught between disgruntled pique and reluctant amusement. Reflexively, he glances down at his bare chest – no point in wearing a shirt when it could obstruct his vision while climbing.

Resisting the urge to climb down and pull his shirt back on, Derek twists and reaches up, tying the rope to the branch in a firm knot. He swings back down to a thicker branch, leaning against the tree trunk with a sigh.

It’s gorgeous up here, in the thick green foliage, sunlight filtering through the leaves. Rope bridges hang from branches, connecting a half a dozen wooden shelters built into the trees. He’d seen something like this as a pup visiting his grandmother’s pack. A den in the sky.

But such dens are usually only necessary for packs living in territories prone to natural disasters like flooding. Or attack from rival packs.

“Falling asleep on me?” Erica lands on his branch, more at home at this height than a bird. The branch sways and he clings just a little more to the trunk, envious of her fearlessness.

“Two minutes of rest counts as falling asleep for you?” Derek grumbles before he can help himself. He tenses and waits for Erica to snap at him for being disrespectful, but she just raises one eyebrow and leans back casually, as if content to rest with him.

Derek picks at the bark, wondering if he dare ask, and decides to ask anyway. Apparently Erica’s boldness is catching. “Why the tree den? Does your pack have boarder troubles?”

Erica fixes him with sharp, intelligent eyes. He’s reminded of a falcon. “Don’t all packs have a scuffle here and there?”

Kate’s smiling face surfaces in his mind. He squashes the image ruthlessly. “Yes. They do,” he says, jaw clenched as the old, bitter memories rise, like bile in his throat.

Erica is still studying him, but the predator in her gaze is gone, replaced by something more sympathetic. “The McCall pack doesn’t have enemies,” she says, abruptly. “Scott’s the diplomatic type. He’s pretty good at keeping everyone happy.”

“But,” Derek prompts, sensing a caveat to her words.

Erica smiles tightly. “He believes in contingency plans.” There’s a fierce kind of pride in her tone.

He doesn’t think that’s the full story, but decides not to push. “Do you like him?” he asks, instead. “As an alpha, I mean.”

Erica smirks at the hasty amendment. “Sure,” she says. “He’s got a great ass and an even nicer chest than you. What’s not to love?”

“Great, exactly what I look for in an alpha. What else could you want?” Derek says, deadpan.

“He’s a good alpha. A true alpha, to be specific. We would give our lives for him. As he’s given his life to us.”

Derek blinks, a little thrown but the shift in Erica’s demeanor. It should sound like a warning, but it doesn’t, somehow just a statement of fact.

Erica stands gracefully, surefooted even as the branch sways. “C’mon, eyebrows. I want to stabilize a couple more of the cross-tree bridges before we head back.”

“If I help will you start calling me by my actual name?” Derek asks.

“Can you help without clinging to that trunk?” she challenges.

In response Derek stands and deliberately steps forward, hands loose at his side.

“Deal.”

\----

Derek rises with dawn the next morning, gently extracting himself from Cora’s arms. She murmurs sleepily but doesn’t wake, and he spends a moment brushing the hair from her face before leaving the den.

Scott meets him at the edge of the forest. “Ready?” he asks, already stripping off his tunic.

Derek takes a deep steadying breath, trying to curb his nervousness. He knows as the outsider he’ll be lowest in the hierarchy, will need to show his willingness to follow commands from everyone else in the hunting group. Instinct and aggressiveness runs high during the hunt and he doesn’t want to be caught in the crossfire.

A hand lands on his shoulder. Derek glances up to meet Scott’s gaze. “It’ll be fine,” Scott says, brown eyes calm and reassuring. “Just follow my lead.”

Derek nods, relaxing a little under those eyes. “I’m ready,” he says.

Scott gives his shoulder one last squeeze and turns to shift into wolf form. Derek cracks his neck, strips off his clothes and does the same, reveling in the satisfying feeling of returning to wolf form after being in human skin for many hours, akin to stretching out unused muscles after a long nap. 

He follows Scott to the edge of the den area where the rest of the hunting pack waits. Derek recognizes the jet black form of Boyd, the compact but powerful figure of Allison, and a lean wolf called Stiles that Derek has only seen in passing. He chuffs nervously, tail curling under his body, and slinks towards Boyd first, keeping low to the ground. 

Boyd’s tail tick-tocks back and forth as he allows Derek to lick at his muzzle, a more familiar way of greeting a higher-ranked wolf. Boyd gently nips at his ear before nudging him towards Allison.

Derek approaches Allison next, stopping just in front of her, belly nearly touching the ground. He pauses there, unsure if that’s enough, but she dips her head to scent along the scruff of his neck before touching noses with him briefly.

Stiles is last. He’s smaller than Derek but holds himself with the confidence of someone who is secure in their pack place, tail erect and stance deceptively relaxed. Derek approaches him more cautiously than he did with Boyd and Allison, ears flat against his skull.

Stiles’ lips pull back as Derek nears, revealing just a glint of fangs. Derek flips belly-up immediately, heart beginning to race. For a long moment Stiles doesn’t move, and Derek fights both the panicked instinct to run, and the urge to whine or cringe. He might be the lowest ranking here but he _is not_ an omega and he will not cower.

Boyd growls disapprovingly, but it’s not directed at him. Stiles huffs and finally bends down to nose at Derek’s throat. His teeth aren’t quite covered when he does it and Derek stays utterly still until he’s pulled away.

It’s only until Stiles is several paces away when Derek rolls back onto his feet, crouching cautiously. Stiles ignores him, and Derek figures that’s the most acceptance he can expect, at this point. He doesn’t hold Stiles’ hostility against him – Derek wouldn’t exactly jump to trust a foreign wolf either, in Stiles’ position.

They set off, Scott in the center, Boyd flanking his right side, Stiles and Allison to his left. Derek runs next to Boyd, wary of getting in Stiles’ way, not keen on giving the other wolf any excuse to snap at him. The forest is relatively dense with underbrush and vegetation, but they move swiftly and silently with a grace granted by the wolf form.

Within an hour Scott’s ears perk up as he guides them slightly more northward. It’s a few more miles before Derek catches the same scent, and a few more after that before the herd of elk are in sight.

They pause downwind of the herd, crouched in the long grasses of the woodlands. Derek scans the herd for any members who appear old or injured. There are two calves that would be easiest to go after, but Scott seems to ignore them, instead indicating an old grizzled adult that walks with the slightest of limps. When Scott is sure that they’ve all seen the injured adult, he motions them forward.

From there, the hunt is quick and brutal.  They isolate the adult from the rest of the herd, surrounding it and driving it forward with the intent of exhausting it before attacking.

If Derek was afraid that he wouldn’t be useful on the hunt, wouldn’t be able to work with the others, that fear melts away as he sinks into the role of the hunter, trusting his instincts and Scott to guide him. Scott is a talented hunter, clearly signaling to the others when to attack and when to draw back to keep from being injured. Soon enough their prey is slowing, exhausted, still lashing out with powerful kicks that are getting progressively easier and easier to dodge.

The others move less like a pack and more like _extensions_ of each other, and a thrill of joy pulses through Derek at feeling so closely connected with others like this. Feeling like part of something greater than himself.

Scott delivers the killing blow with Allison’s help, and together they bring their prey down. Derek resists the urge to join in the howls of triumph, exhilaration of the hunt pounding in his veins, and instead moves a little away from the others. Crouching down a good distance from the kill, he keeps his tail tucked underneath him and waits.

As alpha Scott will feed first, taking his fill before allowing his betas to eat. Derek doesn’t dare approach. He’s not a part of this pack, despite being allowed to help pay them back for their hospitality, and he’s not sure how they would react to him trying to feed with them.

When Scott’s finished he moves away from the kill, sitting by Derek. He lifts his head to gauge Scott’s mood. The other wolf seems relaxed, panting lightly. Cautiously, Derek licks at Scott’ muzzle in the same way a pup would, trying to convey his thanks at being allowed to hunt at Scott’s side.

Scott makes a pleased rumbling sound. His eyes are soft and brown even in wolf form and Derek wonders how he does it, how he keeps his eyes from shifting to the red of an alpha even when fully transformed. All the others have the yellow or blue eyes that come with beta form.

The betas drift away from the carcass, leaving more than enough to bring back to the den. Derek expects them to start shifting back to human form to transport it, but instead Scott dips his head and nudges Derek forward.

Derek stalls, a soft whine of confusion building in his throat. Scott huffs and pushes him forward again, tail sweeping back and forth once. The message is clear.  

 _You hunt with the pack, you eat with the pack_.

Hesitantly, Derek steps forward, bracing himself for one of the others to protest. Stiles looks less than pleased, but doesn’t so much as aim a stray growl his way.

And for the first time since he came under the wing of the McCall pack, Derek lets himself hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooooo soooo sorry this took so long to update (and that this chap is so short)! I had the chapter written, and then lost it, and got de-motivated about re-writing it. but here it is! god. I will try not to let like 3 months pass before updating again guys, sorry!!


End file.
